


The Supportive Spouse

by baranskini



Category: The Good Fight (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranskini/pseuds/baranskini
Summary: Tag to S03E02 of TGF, when Kurt took Diane along to the fundraiser.Thank you to Silverinia for the beta and for the hand-holding. You are a dream and this wouldn’t have been posted without you ♥️♥️I hope you all enjoy and that I do the episode justice. 🤭





	The Supportive Spouse

**Author's Note:**

> Tag to S03E02 of TGF, when Kurt took Diane along to the fundraiser. 
> 
> Thank you to Silverinia for the beta and for the hand-holding. You are a dream and this wouldn’t have been posted without you ♥️♥️
> 
> I hope you all enjoy and that I do the episode justice. 🤭

 

Kurt McVeigh was a simple man, a 'jeans and t-shirt'-man, a man’s man. He didn't care for fancy parties or elite galas and certainly not for stuffy, exuberant fundraisers. He’d prefer to be at home with his wife, reading a good book in a flannel shirt, not dancing around some decked out hall with a tie cutting off his circulation. It simply wasn’t for him. Sure, his wife loved these sorts of things, but for Kurt, there was nothing worse than pretentious arseholes, all trying to one up each other, while faking their support for some charity or another.

However, despite his loathing of all formal functions, when his new boss had asked him to attend a Republican fundraiser, he’d hurried home and put on a suit.

It wouldn’t do to offend the guy in charge so early on, and so Kurt obliged like a good new employee. Decked out in a fitted, black Armani - that his wife had insisted he purchase- with a suffocating tie and squeaky-clean dress shoes, he'd put aside his aversion to such a function and made the best of the situation.

It wasn't uncommon for Diane to drag him along to some work party now and then, or even occasionally to a democratic gala. Usually, she had to bribe him into coming to such a shindig, coax him into attending via salacious means or, indeed, sexual favours, little did she know that all the bribing he needed was the promise of her in a skin-tight dress. Regardless, they had attended many a democratic function but he could count on one hand the times they'd visited a Republican soirée.

Naturally, when he’d agreed to attend, he'd assumed she wouldn't be interested, especially considering who was speaking, but she'd surprised him. Sure, she’d mocked and teased but still, she’d pulled on a fancy ensemble and escorted him here. 

If he was being honest, and if anyone asked he would deny it, but he  _was_  rather glad she had decided to join him - even though he knew he was in for an evening of mocking and quiet disdain from her. He was glad he didn't have to face the party by himself, she always was better at these sort of things, and her experience would probably wouldn’t hurt. Plus, she did look incredibly hot in her metallic-patterned dress. 

After a couple painfully long minutes, spent chatting with some of the higher-ups, they had found their way to their allotted table, his fingers heavy on the small of her back as he steered her away from another right-wing conversation.  

"Can you believe that man? I mean seriously, what can of a backward, ignorant fool doesn't believe in climate change?" Diane hissed with a roll of her eyes. "And then to suggest global warming is just a means of terrorism constructed by the Middle East?" she raged on, less hushed this time. 

Kurt smiled politely as they passed a couple who shot his wife a dirty look upon hearing her remarks. 

"I love you, McVeigh, but how you can affiliate yourself with such a disgusting political party is beyond me. I mean are _all_  Republicans this stupid or is it just the ones that voted for Trump?" 

Kurt caught her elbow, holding her tightly as he met her cobalt eyes, pausing their progress for a quick second. The ballroom was large and people were milling all around them. Kurt flashed a few of the guests nearest to them another tight grin as he leaned into her.

"Darling," he began in a condescending whisper, his fingers once again pushing at the small of her back, thrusting her forward and toward their table. "In case you’ve forgotten," his voice was low in her ear, a breathy murmur that had her tingling despite the innocuous nature of their conversation. God, but she was weak for this man. "We are at a  _Republican_  party and this job allows me to stay in Chicago _with you, and_  I don’t want to lose it. So maybe we could be a little less… _liberal_  with our comments." 

Diane snorted out a chuckle, rolling her eyes and bumping him with her elbow teasingly. She shot him a sparkling smile, allowing him to lead her to their seats. 

As they approached their table, Kurt's grip on her elbow suddenly tightened, his green eyes widening as he watched a tall blonde man move toward the same table as them.

“Diane, give me your phone,” he suddenly hissed, his lips close to her ear. Diane giggled slightly, turning her head into his neck and stealing a quick biting kiss from the skin she found there.  

“Why?” she whispered innocently, her blue eyes big and wide with feigned naivety. She knew he'd seen her recording their earlier conversation, his foot pressing into hers was evidence enough, as was his dark look, however, she hadn't expected him to acknowledge it right now, and especially not here.

“Diane,” Kurt warned in a low gruff voice, pulling out her chair. His wife shot him another curiously innocent glance before taking her seat. A minute later, she knew why he’d wanted her phone. A tall blonde man strolled up to them, his cologne stinking of self-absorption and idiocy. Diane gulped as the man thrust out his hand, clasping it around her husband's in a familiar gesture that made her sick to her stomach. 

“Kurt, glad you could make it,” the man said, his suit screaming of self-entitlement. Diane bit the side of her cheek until she could taste blood. Eric Trump. Of course, who else?

“Thanks for the invite,” Kurt replied shortly, his skin on edge as he waited for the man to greet Diane. He knew bringing her had been a bad idea, forget her sexy dress and loving company, he shouldn't have brought her.

“And this little lady must be the ‘ole ball and chain,” Eric smiled slimily and Diane swallowed hard, pushing the bile rising in her throat back down. She looked to the younger man, her lips curving up into more of a grimace than a smile as she inwardly fumed _. 'Ball and Chain'_? _'Little lady'?_  What was this, the nineteen-fifties?

“The ball and Chain’s name is Diane,” she corrected tersely, not standing or offering her hand, her tight, malicious grin wide across her delicate features. The man looked slightly shocked but still stood with his hand hanging between them, waiting for her acknowledgement. 

Kurt’s hand quickly slipped to her shoulder, squeezing it tightly, silently asking her to behave, to keep it together. 

The younger man looked blankly between them for a few moments, his unease clear as a heavy tension settled over them. It was obvious from his expression that he had been expecting more of a reaction, perhaps a gushing handshake from Diane, maybe her jumping to her feet in adoration or just a polite hello, however, she'd given him no such courtesy. Diane simply blinked up at the man blandly, her lips pursed slightly.

Kurt's short nails dug into her shoulder, almost holding her back; as if she might launch an attack on the man at any second, as if she would pounce and slice his jugular with her very pointy heels in one smooth move. 

The trio remained silent for a beat and after a long, awkward moment in which she merely cocked her head expectantly, the man finally took the hint. His hand danced back to his side as he covered any surprise or embarrassment with an exaggerated cough.

“Well, Mrs  _McVeigh_ ,” the blonde man continued, sensing he should tread lightly with her. “It looks like I’ll have the pleasure of sitting next to you, let me just grab a glass of scotch and I’ll be back.” The man left promptly, scurrying away as Diane sneered. 

“Why is it that when  _he_  uses my married name, I wanna throw up?” she grumbled with a roll of her eyes, making Kurt laugh.  

Dropping into his seat beside her, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. 

“Play nice, Diane,” he warned with a grin and a quirked eyebrow.

Diane smirked back darkly, leaning into her husband, her hand falling to his forearm on the table.   

“I read somewhere he’s allergic to mushrooms, maybe we can slip some into his meal,” she whispered forebodingly and Kurt let out an exasperated scoff, taking her hand in his and running his thumb over the soft skin lovingly.  

“You see, this is why I didn’t want to bring you,” he teased, flashing her a pointed look. 

“What?” she asked in a high pitched voice. “I was civil,” she continued. Her husband shot her an incredulous look, causing her to laugh. “Well, mostly.” 

The room buzzed for a few more minutes before the dinner guests - including Eric Trump - began taking their seats, all sitting down in preparation for the headlining speaker. An invigorated twenty-something called for the room’s silence, her squeaky voice loud over the mic. 

“Listen,” Diane began in a whisper, her lips grazing the shell of his ear as she spoke. “I just want you to know that I love you and that you are the best thing in my life.”

Kurt frowned at her declaration, confused as to where she was going with it. 

Her hand suddenly left his and reached over for her knife. Kurt watched curiously as she brought the blunt blade to her wrist. Her eyes twinkled, even in the dim ballroom, her smirk mocking and dangerous as she feigned a sawing movement over her wrist. 

Kurt buried a laugh beneath a cough, rolling his eyes as he reached over to move the knife safely out of her reach. 

“How long do you think we have to stay?” she continued in a hushed tone, trying to continue their conversation even as the room simmered down. “Because I know I was the one who wanted to tag along, but really, I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Kurt scoffed, sipping on his scotch, hiding a deep grin beneath the bristles of his moustache. 

“I was wrong, this is boring, let’s just go back home,” she continued, leaning closer again, pressing a hot kiss to the stubble of his throat. Kurt grit his teeth as he felt the tip of her tongue flick at his skin. “Let’s go home and we can... _play._ ”

“Later,” he replied, planting a kiss on her cheek, his attention drifting to the stage as some plump, greying man took the podium to introduce the guest of honour. 

Diane huffed, taking a sip of her wine as she too turned her attention to the stage. Her husband smiled at her, proud of her resolve and of the way she tried her best to fit in, regardless of how uncomfortable she was here. 

He took another sip of his drink, turning to watch as Don Jr. took the stage. He rolled his eyes. As much as Kurt affiliated with the Republican Party, he was just as against the Trump administration as she was, granted a little more tolerant than her in regards to the extended branches, the man seated beside her and the other on stage a case in point. But he was still against Trump and really anyone who was in this ballroom clearly wasn’t, so why listen? Why engage them? Why bother to fake an interest in something he didn’t care about? Why not have a little fun instead of listening to this heinous man spreading his poison?

Kurt smirked thoughtfully, rolling an idea over in his head. Perhaps she was right, perhaps there was a way to make this evening more enjoyable, and he didn’t mean spiking Eric’s food with mushrooms. Perhaps he could treat her to the same torture she'd bestowed upon him at the last democratic function they'd attended. He smiled at the idea, salacious thoughts of that very...  _eventful_  evening flashing back to him and goading him into his next move. He grinned saucily, looking up to the stage, his eyes dark and naughty as he seemingly ignored his wife. He waited until the lights had dimmed, the scattering of applause for Don Jr. had dissipated and Diane’s focus had drifted. 

Suddenly, as inconspicuously as possible, his hand dipped under the table they were seated at, tugging up the heavy white material before finding its way onto her knee. Her legs were crossed and she was rolling her ankle slowly, a move he knew to be either irritation or impatience - possibly both. His hand pushed at her knee, insisting she uncross her legs. Diane obliged by shifting, not thinking much of the action as she continued to feign interest. 

The move wasn't exactly unusual - or unwelcome -, she was used to his possessive nature by now. And truth be told, she rather liked it, it was comforting, safe. More of a habit than him staking his claim. 

With a nonchalant smile in his direction, she quickly turned back to the speaker, pretending to listen once more. God, but Don Jr. was an idiot. However, while she might have hated the nonsense he was spewing, might have thought he was an absolute lunatic, she was still polite. Her mother had raised her right and even if it killed her, she was going to sit still and at least fake some interest. 

Her mind was reeling with all the ways she could possibly escape the speaker and his brother seated beside her, but before she could action her plans, she felt her husband shift on her left and the warm hand on her thigh brazenly inch up the material of her glitzy, silky dress; baring her knees. 

Kurt smirked as he felt her shiver, his eyes looking anywhere but at her as he confidently slipped his hand between her legs, his free arm resting on the back of her chair. 

His fingers brushed passed the silk tops of her stockings, slithering up until they rested against the soft material of her lingerie. Diane’s eyes widened. She jolted forward abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she pulled herself closer to the table, squeezing her legs together tightly trying to stop him. A few people turned as the noise of her chair echoed, eyes all thinned as they tried to make out her face. 

Diane gulped, her hand falling to Kurt’s arm and digging her red talons into his skin. Her husband hummed at the tinge of pain he felt through his jacket, smirking as he tormented her with soft, tempting touches along the crotch of her panties. 

She bit her bottom lip to hold back a gasp, flashing a composed expression to any remaining eyes before turning her head and meeting his devious gaze. 

“Kurt!” she mouthed out menacingly, her voice barely sounding but still resonating between them. “No!” 

Despite her warning, her blue eyes were almost black with desire, her mind screaming out in protest but her body desperate for him to continue. It had always been a turn on between them, politics. And although this whole fundraiser was turning her off of Republicans more than she already had been, he was the exception. She supposed this was his retribution for the last party she’d forced him to attend, payback for the way her fingers had tormented him that evening. 

“Not here,” she whispered leaning into him with a pleading furrow of her brow. 

He merely grinned, moving his chair just slightly towards her for a better angle. 

“Yes,” he growled into her ear, pressing his thumb over her clit. “Here.”

Diane bit her lip, letting her eyes fall closed as Kurt looked around the room with a shit-eating grin on his face. He was enjoying this. 

He toyed with her for a few more moments, feeling the lace of her knickers dampen before he slipped his fingers into the lacy garment, now pressing his thumb directly against her. His other hand twirled patterns on her shoulder as he lazily teased her heat, making sure to look as casual as possible while he was touching her so intimately. 

Diane licked her lips slowly, trying to stop her hips from thrusting out into his fingers. She tried to calm herself, but even debutante training hadn’t prepared her for 'When your husband finger-fucks you at the dinner table in a room filled with Republicans'. 

Kurt turned his head slightly to press his lips to the skin beneath her ear, his mouth curving around the shell.

“So wet,” he hissed out and Diane sunk further down in her chair, unable to stop her legs from opening wider, his advances too good to pass up.  

There was a sudden littering of applause for Don Jr. and Diane breathed out a sigh; relief at the thought of some distraction washing over her. But instead, just as the room erupted, Kurt twisted his thumb into her clit again, causing her to jerk her knee and bang it against the underside of the table. 

Diane gasped out, her hand curving around the edge of the table as she panted slightly. Despite the noise from the applause, two men at their table still turned to her direction, giving her curious looks. 

Diane feigned a small smile, moving to grasp her wine glass, and taking a healthy gulp. She buried her face in it for a moment, trying to act normal; well, as normal as one could when on the precipice of an orgasm. Kurt laughed inwardly at the move, shifting closer to her as he thrust his fingers in deep, curling them in a come-hither motion. Diane sucked in a huge gulp of the red liquid, almost choking on it as she felt him repeat the action. To avoid screaming, she began to cough, loudly and inelegantly - anything to keep her from making a noise that would give away just what he was doing to her. 

The Trump beside her rested his hand on her shoulder.

"Mrs. McVeigh," the blonde queried quietly. "Are you all right?"

"Mmhm," she hummed through tight lips, setting her glass down roughly. She added another “Fine.” as she bounced her shoulder, trying to shake off his touch. The very last thing she needed was Trump’s son’s hand on her shoulder while Kurt had his fingers in- 

She once again shifted closer to the table and tried to focus on the speech, but Kurt refused to let up, his digits rough and hot on her wet flesh. 

With a gulp, she shot him the iciest look she could muster, glaring at him, her expression screaming at him to stop. 

She normally wouldn’t pass up such treatment but not here, not now, with Eric Trump sitting right beside her. Diane tried to shift away from him but his fingers caught her with a vicious curl and she had to bite back a gasp. She attempted to press her legs together, attempted to still his movements – but that turned out to be an even worse idea as sparks of pleasure shot through her spine. 

"Christ," she swore, bending forward and resting her forehead in her hands. Her voice was a low hiss, almost unintelligible, but unfortunately, Trump’s spawn had still heard it. 

"Mrs. McVeigh?" he repeated in confusion, his voice low so as not to distract from his brother. 

Diane froze, sensing she was drawing the attention of more people. It wasn’t just the guests at their table that were looking at her now, but spectators from all over the room. Kurt suddenly stilled his digits inside her, pausing to let her gain back her breath and, if possible, some dignity. 

“Too much wine,” he offered up to a suspicious Trump, curling his arm further around her and tugging Diane into him. With a defeated sigh, she let her forehead fall to his collarbone as he stroked her back lovingly.

The blonde man seemed to take him at his word and before long, he, as well as the other onlookers, had turned back to Don Jr. 

“Kurt,” Diane whimpered into his shirt, her teeth sinking into the material and leaving a damp spot as he flicked his thumb against her again. His fingers started up their slow, deliberate torture all over again, making stars flash behind her eyelids. Her hand curled around the lapel of his jacket, tugging on it desperately. 

"You okay, Sweetheart?" he asked lowly, playing the innocent, caring husband, his face the picture of worry, but his voice full of smug sarcasm.  

Diane swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to remove the moisture in her eyes before lifting her head with what little self-control she had left.

“Just finish me!” she hissed into Kurt’s ear, beyond the point of sanity as she dragged her teeth down his throat. Her husband smirked darkly, holding her closer as he went in for the kill. Diane curled further into him, sinking her teeth into the skin just above the collar of his smart button-down.

Her body jerked suddenly as a shiver of pleasure rushed over her, her orgasm strong and violent. Her leg jumped out, rattling the table as her knee banged loudly against it. Trump and their other table mate quickly turned to the couple, all wearing varying expressions of surprise.

“Sorry,” Kurt mouthed out, failing to conceal his satisfied smirk. The people around them watched as he curved his hand into his wife’s blonde curls, soothing her. “She’s just very moved by the speech,” he offered up, biting back a chuckle. The others seemed to understand, nodding with smiles as they turned back to the speaker who was now evoking a very visceral reaction from the audience.

Diane’s teeth sunk into his flesh painfully, a silent response to his reasoning. As if she’d ever be moved by that man’s speech. Kurt grunted almost inaudibly, his jaw setting tightly at the sting of her bite. Slowly, after a long moment, he removed his digits, feeling her squirm as a new wave of sparks ran through her body.

Diane choked down another cry, thankful that she was at least quiet.

"Wine must have gone to her head," someone across from her whispered to their partner and Diane’s hand curled into a fist. If only they knew. 

After another long minute, the room roared to life, applause almost deafening as everyone stood. Kurt nudged her, and used his arm around her to help her stand. Her legs felt wobbly and she was sure that if it had not been for his hand gripping her, she’d have collapsed back onto the chair. 

She straightened up, turning to face the front of the room. She breathed in and out, calming her body as much as possible. Her cheeks were hot with afterglow, something she hoped would come off as nothing more than a blush from too much wine.

With her palm, she touched up her flushed face, staring straight ahead, her heart slamming into her ribs. She refused to make eye contact with her husband as the people around them continued clapping. Her expression was pinched into a sneer, as she tried to hide the mortification – and slight thrill – that was raging through her blood.

Her hand reached out for his, tangling their fingers in a vice-like grip, her pointy nails cutting into the skin at the back of his hand. 

Diane didn’t applaud, merely let a pleasant smile slip onto her face, so to all who were watching it looked as if she was impressed and moved by Don Jr.’s speech. Kurt shied away from her, trying to tear his hand away unsuccessfully. She sunk her nails deeper into his hand, making sure to leave bloody half-moon crescents in her wake. 

“Still bored, Mrs. McVeigh?” he rasped out mockingly. The room had begun to settle, the noise dying down and the people slowly found their seats again. Kurt tried to do the same, but she turned to stare directly into his green eyes, her gaze thinned and malicious beneath a sickly-sweet smile. 

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she hissed in a steely voice, her expression dark and direct. 

Shrugging at her with a smirk, he slowly drew his digits up to his lips, and blew her a kiss, lowering his body back into his seat. "Paybacks a bitch,"  he replied, smirking smugly. Diane gulped, blushing even further at the mere memory of just how handsy she'd gotten at the last DNC ball. 

“Besides,” he continued, looking around the room casually. “Now you know what it’s like at all those Democratic fundraisers.”

Diane couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips at his snarky reply. Maybe he was right, maybe these fundraisers weren't so bad after all, especially if they ended like this. 

Maybe if she had to sit next to a Trump, it was okay as long as her husband was by her side, ready to distract her by any means necessary. 

 


End file.
